The Distance from A to Z Read Online Free PDF Page A

behind is sticking that far out from their shorts, whose tank top is that low-cut, is shy. But Zeke, nice guy that he is, seems to be lapping it up. His hand grazes the top of her shoulder, down her upper back. Her skin.
    â€œAbby!”
    I’m startled from the daggers I’m shooting at Zeke by Drew’s hand on my arm.
    â€œSorry,” I mumble.
    â€œEx-boyfriend?” Drew asks.
    â€œGod, no.” I frown. “Guy I met yesterday.”
    â€œWell, then I’m glad I met you today, so I get the privilege of sitting with you. What year are you?”
    But I don’t get a chance to answer because our professorwalks in, plopping a leather satchel on her desk and clapping her hands.
    If I didn’t know better, I’d be willing to bet Jed’s signed Sammy Sosa baseball cards that Audrey Tautou, French actress and star of my favorite movie, Amélie , is my French professor. Suddenly I don’t care about Zeke’s hand and the redhead’s coy laughter, or even the slightly uncomfortable feeling of Drew’s hand still on my arm, his faint, stale breath I can’t help but notice because he’s sitting about a foot closer to me than I’m comfortable with. In her black-and-white crisp sundress, red sandals, and bright matching nails, my French professor might be my dream grown-up. Move aside, Alice Tremberly, Madame Joliet is my new spirit animal.
    â€œ Voilà, bonjour à tous! Welcome, everyone. Je suis vraiment heureuse que vous êtes ici. On va passer deux mois ensemble. ”
    Her voice is cheerful, like she’s inserting a smile between the letters one at a time as she scans the room. And though she does appear to be genuine in her excitement for us to spend the next two months together, it can’t possibly be more than I am.
    â€œDid anyone have a hard time understanding what I said just now? Was I too quick for anyone?” Her English is only slightly accented.
    Redhead raises her hand, giggling slightly. Madame Jolietstrolls over to her, a piece of paper in her hand. “Your name, dear?”
    â€œI’m Stephie Shaw. I’m not technically registered for this class but I was supposed to be in Spanish, and I thought it might be more fun to take French. Since I’ve never taken it before?” She glances over at Zeke beside her, and he grins back.
    I want to hurl.
    â€œWell, Stephie.” Madame Joliet smiles, the name sounding ten times more elegant when she pronounces it. “I’m sure the French department would love to have you as a student. This class, however, is an intermediate-level class, which means you need a solid knowledge of French in order to participate. Why don’t you go over to the Modern Languages office on the ground floor and inquire as to whether there are still places in Beginning French?”
    Stephie’s smile falters, and she looks over at Zeke as though there’s a chance he might be able to intercede. Oh no, Madame, perhaps she thinks he’ll say in his all-powerful Greek god way, while Stephie speaks no French at all, she can absolutely handle this intermediate French class. I will tutor her. I will spend every day and every night speaking with her in French, in bed and out.
    I’m so caught up in my daydream that I miss Stephie’s exit, and only catch up when the wooden classroom door bangsshut.
    â€œ Bien . What I’d like to ask you to do,” Madame Joliet begins in a slightly more rapid-paced French, “is write a few sentences about yourself that you’d like me to know. Where you’re from, what you’re studying during the year, why you wanted to be in this class. Where you learned French. It’s not a test. I’m not grading you. I just want to know a bit more about you. D’accord? ”
    We all nod. I grab a sheet from my notebook, my stomach turning. What if my French isn’t good enough? What if I get bumped down to Beginning French